


Separation Anxiety

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Catharsis, Gen, Gender-Neutral Hawke (Dragon Age), Justice (Dragon Age) Positive, Separation Anxiety, black emporium as a cheap plot device, break it and then fix it, hawke critical, hawke isn't malevolent in this just kind of clueless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-27 01:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20752454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After the incident in the Gallows, Hawke thinks they know what’s best for Anders. They’re sorely mistaken.





	Separation Anxiety

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title: “Ser, this is my emotional support spirit.”

It hadn’t been Anders’ idea, not really.

True, his fearless leader’s impression of his ride-along spirit had never exactly been a good one. Hawke had seen his eyes glow with Justice’s energy exactly twice. The first time, they had been in the Chantry at night surrounded by templars during his botched attempt to rescue Karl. The second…

_ “Get away from me, demon!” _

That was all it had taken. One uttered phrase, and the cowering apprentice before him had seemed no different than the templars that had been attacking her. If Hawke hadn’t stopped him…

Still, even with what had happened in the Gallows, he couldn’t help but meet the suggestion of separating from the spirit with some apprehension.

“You found  _ what _ in the Black Emporium?”

“A guide to exorcism,” Hawke explained, showing him the dusty book. “It’s a simple enough spell, and with the lyrium from the Deep Roads, I won’t even need to use blood magic for it.”

\---

He still didn’t know what had possessed him to consent to the ritual.

In the aftermath, he was coming to realize he didn’t fully understand what had possessed him, period. Had his heart always beaten that fast? Had he always sweated so much? Had the world always been so dark and maddeningly quiet?

Hawke was gracious enough, at least, to let him stay in the mansion as he recovered. He spent much of the first few days lying prone in the guest bed hugging his knees to his chest. Light filtered through the windows and a fire blazed in the hearth, but none of it seemed to penetrate his consciousness. Even the hot food Orana would bring in went ignored and forgotten on the nightstand.

Anders craved company, relishing even the precious few minutes Hawke would come in, sit beside him on the bed, and ask how he was feeling. But even that was never enough. Even when Hawke saw the cold, forgotten food on the nightstand and insisted he join the family for a meal, even surrounded by the laughter and sound of clinking dishes that accompanied the Hawke family’s dinner, he felt alone, a thousand miles away. His fork tapped aimlessly against a plate of hot food that could have been the slop from the Circle tower’s dungeon for all the attention Anders paid it.

_ The clinic needs me, _ he found himself thinking nearly a week after the ritual. He had some helpers who had surely been keeping the clinic open in his absence, but there wasn’t a lot they could do without their spirit healer. For all Anders knew, there had been at least five new epidemics in Darktown while he dealt with his “personal problem.” Hawke’s home, despite all efforts, felt like a prison, and his patients needed him. Unable to sleep, he slipped out in the middle of the night, escaping through the tunnels in the basement to Darktown.

Now this was more like it. Darktown was cramped and smelled of sewage, with a slight chill from the lack of insulation. There was no pretense here. In his lonely room in the back of the clinic, Anders could lie in his rickety old cot and dream about cats that turned into demons and rest assured that even the loneliest nights wouldn’t last forever.

This night, however, seemed to stretch into eternity. Even thinking of kittens brought Anders no comfort. He tossed and turned, empty of drive, wishing to sleep only so this feeling would go away. Maybe getting back into his work would make him feel better.

After what seemed like a decade, a faint excuse for morning light began to filter through the window. Anders sat up and stretched, ignoring how sluggish he felt, and lit the lantern outside.

Patients soon began trickling in. Nothing dire, at least. Difficulty breathing here, a fever there. Nothing he couldn’t handle with the help of several wisps.

“Healer?”

Anders snapped to attention. He’d completely lost focus. What was he supposed to be doing?

“You’ve been staring at that… thing for the past twenty minutes.”

The wisp in his hand flickered and vanished. So that’s what he’d been staring at…

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright? Maybe you should lie down.”

Nodding dimly, he doused the lantern and retired to his room, passing out the minute he touched the bed.

\---

The Fade was fluid and ever-changing. Anything that went wrong was quickly put right, whether by the spirits who called this realm their home or by a heroic mortal breaking free from a demon’s trap.

The same could not be said of the mortal realm. It was static, unchanging but for the occasional spark of determination. A spark that, nurtured properly, could push forth change.

Perhaps he did not make sense in such a static world, but the world was not as static as its mortal inhabitants had been led to believe. A boulder pushed uphill, if pushed enough, would eventually meet level ground. If the mortals could only see that, the world would change by their will, but some changes would take the guidance of a spirit to accomplish.

The city of Kirkwall, for instance. A city seemingly rotten to the core with injustice.

Other spirits wondered at him. Since when did he care so much about mortals? Let them run the world to ruin. What should it matter to a spirit of the Fade, who should focus instead on righting wrongs in his own home?

But Justice had seen the mortal realm himself, and it was not a world he could allow to remain as it was. So acutely did he feel the pain of the wounded party that he could not sit still, even separate from his mortal host. How would the world stagnate without him? How many more injustices would go unchecked?

Against the advice of his fellows, he wandered the dreams of mortals, searching for any sign of Kirkwall, of the mages’ plight, of the darkspawn nightmares that troubled Grey Wardens. He needed to know how Anders was faring, because he worried about the mortal.

If Justice was being truthful (and lying to himself would be unjust), he had worried about Anders since long before they had merged. He had always known that the mages in Circles were prisoners routinely subjected to a test by blade against demons, but hearing Anders recount with a smile on his face an instance of being tracked down had caused him endless worry. The things he described were cruel, evil, unjust - how could he smile and laugh when he recounted such horrors?

...So maybe he had grown fond of one specific mortal. Was that so wrong? They had been doing good work together, using their combined powers not only for violent retribution against wrongdoers, but to bring healing and life to the disadvantaged. This was a mortal who, despite all his own suffering, felt the pain of those around him more acutely than his own. How many nights had he spent lying awake, haunted by the memory of an underground prison, his only comfort the thought that he was not alone? How many times had he nearly forgone a meal but for the reminder that helping others required strength of his own?

_ “If you gave instead of taking, I would consider you no demon.” _ Those words had governed his life ever since the failing of Kristoff’s body had forced him to change hosts. He had no problem doing most of the giving in his and Anders’ relationship. In fact, it was something he rather enjoyed. It was only now that he was unable to continue that the worrying began anew.

\---

Anders’ waking life soon became dull and pointless. He had no drive, no energy, he couldn’t even stay focused on healing without getting distracted by wisps and forgetting what he was supposed to be doing. He shut himself in, pushing all his usual work with the clinic and the mage underground aside. Even the manifesto seemed significantly less appealing.

It was rather like being in the Circle again, if he was being honest. But emptier. As if he were in the Circle, but instead of being surrounded by fellow mages and stern templars, he was the only one in the tower. Or like his fourth escape attempt, the one in which he swam across Lake Calenhad during exercise hour, but if his stamina had run out before he reached the shore and, panicking, he had started to drown.

He began searching the Fade in sleep, at first only for something to do, and then, as his mission. Hawke had assured him that the ritual had not harmed Justice and that it had sent him peacefully to the Fade. If that was so, they should be able to meet again. It would be nice to at least talk to the spirit, even if it didn’t result with them merging again.

Not that that was likely to ever happen. Justice must have been miserable, tied to such an angry and pessimistic host. Spirits were unused to human emotions and prone to corruption. If he was still himself, there was no way in the Void he would want anything to do with Anders anymore.

Still, he searched. Even if Justice now hated him, it would be better to hear it in person.

\---

The Blackmarsh Undying was where they found each other.

It was empty now of trapped mortals, but it retained the memory of the Baroness’s cruelty like a surgical scar. It was there that Justice contemplated his purpose. It was there that Anders looked, remembering their first meeting.

The ghostly knight sat on a collapsed pillar like a mortal before a campfire. If it weren’t for the glowing blue outline around him, Anders might have thought him another human. But he felt… familiar, somehow. “Justice?” he tentatively asked, his voice quavering from disuse.

**“If you gave instead of taking, I would consider you no demon.” But you heard that girl,** said Justice, holding out his gauntleted hands as if inspecting them for blood.  **Is it true? Have I strayed so far into the world of mortals that I have forgotten my purpose? Is this the reason you wished to be rid of me?**

“It wasn’t my idea,” Anders admitted. “After what happened in the Gallows, Hawke thought it would be best. I trusted Hawke’s judgment, but… if you’re still…” He took a deep breath. “I thought my anger had corrupted you, but since the ritual, I haven’t been feeling much of… anything.”

**I have always been angry,** said Justice.  **Do you recall the Baroness? Her evil angered me before I had even been led to consider possessing a mortal.**

“I guess I just thought…” Anders sighed, then started the sentence over. “The Circle teaches us that spirits drawn to mages will inevitably be corrupted and that any mage to become possessed is an abomination. That was why that girl called you a demon. It was also why I thought I’d corrupted you.”

**That… makes sense,** said Justice.  **It is unjust to fault those who do not know better. The fault lies instead with the system that teaches falsehoods. I apologize, I should not have forgotten myself.**

“It happens,” Anders reassured him. “Remember when I said that the Grand Enchanter’s motion to separate was a ‘recipe for disaster’?”

**You have come far since then,** Justice assured him in turn.  **Mortals are not static beings as I had once thought. I have… grown to care for you a great deal, Anders. I only hope that… even if you never wish to be joined with me again, that you continue to further your people’s cause.**

“Um, yeah. About that.” Anders’ gaze shifted to the side. “I haven’t been… I’ve been feeling unwell… ever since the ritual. I’ve tried to keep working, but… I can’t stay focused, not like I always could with you. Even Hawke’s house has started to feel like the Circle dungeon.” He met Justice’s eyes, or whatever passed for eyes behind the helmet. “I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me, but I… I miss you. I feel so alone, even when I’m surrounded by other people. If you ever wanted to… merge again, I would welcome you back in less than a heartbeat.”

**Merge,** repeated Justice.  **Yes, I would much prefer to call it that. It is a much friendlier term than “possession.”**

Anders laughed.

\---

He woke the following morning feeling well rested and with a renewed sense of purpose. It was with a smile on his face that he opened the food basket Hawke had left outside, eating a hearty breakfast before lighting the lantern outside his clinic once again.

It was mid-afternoon when Hawke visited. Anders was filled with boundless energy, his patients leaving the clinic only minutes after they entered, smiling with relief and wishing the healer well in turn.

“Feeling better?” asked Hawke.

“Better than ever,” said Anders. “Listen, I know you had concerns regarding Justice’s nature, but we’ve… talked things over, and we decided it would be better if we were back together.”

Hawke frowned. “You mean you’re possessed again?”

“ _ Merged, _ ” he corrected, smiling. “It’s a much friendlier term.”

Because he and Justice were friends. And while many mortal concepts continued to elude the spirit, this was one he had learned to make sense of.


End file.
